


Because the Night Belongs to Lovers

by dicksoutforproblematiccontent



Category: Final Fantasy IX
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Body Worship, Brief Kuja/Random Fem Genome+Garland, Brief PTSD induced Flashback, Brother/Brother Incest, But more fluff than angst, Cunnilingus, Desperation, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Good brother/lover Zidane, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Intersex, Kissing, Kuja has Trauma(Tm), Love, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Neck Kissing, Neediness, Non-Human Genitalia, Oral Sex, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Penetrative Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, overwhelming sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26667472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicksoutforproblematiccontent/pseuds/dicksoutforproblematiccontent
Summary: A night between Zidane and Kuja, as brothers, as lovers.As both, probably.Kuja is unaccustomed to the act ofbeingloved, but Zidane is going to make sure he'll never, ever forget that even he is worthy of it.
Relationships: Kuja/Zidane Tribal
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18





	Because the Night Belongs to Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> So I finished FF9 and me being me, of course, I had to write some fic. Especially with the canonical hero/villain brother duo. Because that's my shit.
> 
> Also me being me, however, I had to add some angst at the end... I don't think it's too heavy, but just fyi, it's a short flashback where Kuja remembers his earlier years at Pandemonium, and Garland was doing some not-so-ethical experiments involving Genome breeding habits. Yeah.
> 
> Speaking of... Genomes are _aliens_. Why have I not seen any fics that take advantage of this fact with some freaky genitals!!! Good thing I am here to _provide_. I'll post my headcanons about Genome breeding at the end of this A/N for those interested.
> 
> Takes place in some vague alternate universe where Kuja lived and he and Zidane fell in love. Don't think too hard about it. Just enjoy the smut, fluff, and brief angst... but mostly fluff and smut. If you DO only want to read the smut and not any of Kuja's traumatic memories, please note that Kuja's flashback starts around the following line:
> 
> **It feels pleasant enough. His body can take this and more, of course, but…**
> 
> That's about it, I guess. Lotsa rambling from me this time! Have fun reading <3
> 
> Obligatory "fiction is not the same as reality, what are you, three?" disclaimer. In other words: Don't like; don't read.
> 
> _Genome gender+reproduction headcanons:_
> 
> Male Genomes: Have a penis which, when not engaged in sexual activity, is hidden in an internal sheath. Male Genomes use their penis to fertilize the eggs female Genomes carry, and posses a passage under their penis/sheath that leads to a specialized organ in which a female Genome will lay her (fertilized) eggs. In this organ the eggs will develop until they are about ready to hatch.
> 
> Female Genomes: Produce eggs. Eggs will be discarded if not fertilized, when they are still small enough that it's no worse than passing a bowel movement. Have a vagina/ovipositor combo. When the eggs are fertilized, they will rapidly grow, and release hormones that cause the ovipositor to swell in preparation of laying them inside her male counterpart.
> 
> Both male and female Genomes instinctually clamp down on the penis or ovipositor penetrating them, as a way to make sure that the act of reproduction is fully completed before they separate.

Kuja considers himself pretty experienced when it comes to the act of pleasuring another.

One doesn’t rise to the status of noble in Treno without a few _‘favors’_ here and there, unless you’re born into it. Not being from Gaia in the first place, Kuja did not have that privilege when he first arrived there; he had to dress, impress, suck up- and, perhaps more importantly, suck off. With how many genitals of varying species he’s come face-to-face with in his time on Gaia, it’d be a crime if he weren’t at least good at it by now.

The act of _receiving_ pleasure, however…

Zidane looming over him, his lips on Kuja’s neck, fingers rubbing his slit, teasing his still mostly-sheathed dick are positively _sinful_. Kuja can’t help the small sounds of pleasure that leave his throat as his brother touches him, feels him up, their clothes long discarded and forgotten on the floor of the dingy room of the inn. It leaves Kuja unguarded, helpless to do anything but to claw at Zidane’s back, hips bucking, seeking more of that wonderful yet maddening sensation, trying to pull his better half closer, instinctually trying to bring them together in the most physical of ways.

“Kuja,” Zidane’s voice is low in his ear, sensual, _needy-_ “you’re so beautiful like this, gods…”

“Zidane- ahh…” Kuja moans when Zidane’s mouth returns to his neck, his fingers digging deeper into his slit, rubbing his dick from inside its sheath. It’s good, it’s so, so very good, even for such a relatively _tame_ act, merely a way to draw his dick out from where it stays hidden most of the time, but it’s almost overwhelming in how amazing it feels. It’s debauched, positively _perverted_ as Zidane’s own partially unsheathed dick meets the tip of his own, and they both push their hips closer, slit meeting slit, dicks crossing, leaking slick in each other’s pubic hairs, dual moans muffled in each other’s necks. He wants, oh Kuja wants to take matters into his own hands, let his fingers dance down Zidane’s hip and pleasure his brother as he pleasures Kuja, but Zidane’s words at the start of the evening still ring in his ears, clear as day.

‘ _Let me take care of you. Just this once.’_

And perhaps, even if he didn’t realize it before, that is exactly what Kuja wants- no, _needs_ the most.

He can’t stop a small whine from leaving his throat when Zidane’s lips start traveling lower, nibbling Kuja’s overheated skin as he mouths at his collarbone, his chest, pressing kisses to his quivering stomach. It’s so tender, so sweet, so _different_ from what Kuja is used to; he’s always craved attention, wanted to be seen, to be loved, but this- he’s never been loved like _this_. Sexual favors in return for power, yes, but always for the benefit of his partner, never for-

His thoughts short-circuit as Zidane’s mouth closes over the head of his dick, a tight seal that rips a surprised shout from his chest, his abdomen clenching in pleasure as his cock fully leaves the protection of his sheath, seeking out more of that warm, wet cavern. Zidane’s fingers crook upwards inside his slit as his head slips a fraction lower, pleasuring him both from the inside and out, and Kuja’s hands fly to Zidane’s head, grasping that shock-blond hair but forcing himself not to push, not to pull, merely holding on for dear life. Zidane’s appreciative hum vibrates through his cock, sending shivers down his spine as his slit clenches down on the fingers inside him, and he finds himself craving more, _more_ -

His hips buck upwards without his consent, driving his dick deeper into Zidane’s mouth- he can’t help it, it’s so good, so _wonderful_ , he can’t believe he was content with just _giving_ sexual favors when this, _this_ was waiting for him all this time. His body shakes, squirming as the pleasure races through every nerve, every fiber of his being. His tail thumps against the mattress uncontrollably, curling and uncurling as it tries to find something to grasp onto-

A gagging noise catches his attention, and just like that, his body goes cold.

He realizes that, while caught up in his own pleasure, he’d started pushing Zidane’s head down while driving his hips up, forcing his brother to take more than he could handle. His pretty blue eyes are narrowed as tears gather at the corners, his nose flaring as he tries to get enough air but fails, free hand pushing at Kuja’s thigh in a manner that signifies that he wants _off._

Kuja’s hands leave Zidane’s head like he’s been stung, backing up against the bedframe as Zidane pulls away from him completely, taking in a few grateful gulps of air before coughing a little, wiping his eyes with the hand that wasn’t just fingering Kuja’s slit. Kuja feels horrible- again, he’d hurt his brother. Again.

“I… forgive me.” He starts, his own breath a bit shaky with the unresolved, leftover pleasure coursing through his body. “I didn’t want- I didn’t _mean_ to lose myself like that, I-“

“Nah,” Zidane, always cheerful Zidane, smiling like Kuja _didn’t_ just brutalize his mouth and throat, croaks out, “s’alright. It happens.”

Something tightens in Kuja’s chest.

“I _hurt_ you.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Kuja.” Zidane lowers himself over Kuja, pulling him into a loose embrace before pressing a small kiss to his chin. “Do you _really_ wanna stop just ‘cause I got a little roughed up? I’m not some kinda delicate flower, you know.” He laughs, before something like concern flashes over his face. “I mean, unless you actually _do_ wanna stop. If that’s the case, just tell me, ‘kay?”

Kuja bites his lip, allowing himself to slowly return the embrace, his hands stopping at Zidane’s hips. Despite the earlier shock, arousal still throbs heavily throughout his entire body. Needy. Ready to _go._ He seems more shaken over this than Zidane, but the reassuring words, the warm press of the other’s body against his- he can’t deny that he still wants more. That he still craves that lovely feeling, the affection Zidane gives so freely combined with the pleasure of sex; his dick throbs and his slit tightens at the very _thought._

“Please,” he murmurs, “I want- please continue. It was so good, Zidane.”

Oh, his words are so clumsy, so unlike him, but Zidane- Zidane understands.

“Yeah,” his brother agrees, pressing closer, “it _is_ good, Kuja.”

Zidane’s lips meet his, and his eyes fall closed, relishing in the sensation. His brother’s hand slowly travels south, pleasantly petting Kuja’s stomach like he’s a skittish cat, and in any other circumstance he’d be annoyed, but it just feels so nice to be touched so gently even when he clearly doesn’t deserve it. Zidane’s hand is warm, a rough, rugged texture from wielding those daggers of his, slowly working its way back down to Kuja’s dick, his slit, a massaging motion that almost makes Kuja want to purr. Their lips slide together so wonderfully, open mouthed kisses that steal his breath away, pushing his hips upwards with a gasp as Zidane’s fingers lightly brush over his dick, an experimental touch that’s not _nearly_ enough, that leaves him wanting _more_. He moans against Zidane’s lips, so needy, so wanton, clawing at his brother’s hips, pushing them down, urging them to meet-

Matching sighs of pleasure leave their lips as Zidane’s hips lower, his hand returning to press their dicks together in a tight tunnel, rubbing up and down. The earlier incident has completely left Kuja’s mind, his focus entirely on the throbbing heat of Zidane’s dick against his own, the wonderful friction of his hand, slick with the precum dribbling from their heads. Zidane’s lips are forced to leave his as he throws his head back with moan, though they’re quick to attach themselves to Kuja’s neck, licking and sucking, teeth meeting his skin, small pinpricks that only enhance his pleasure as they latch on the right spot, leaving him so, so sensitive. Their groins press together, their slits leaking lubricant as they rub against one another when Kuja cants his hips _just right_ , Zidane holding the bases of their dicks, a wonderful symphony of sensations sending his mind into a delicious spiral of want and need, of more, _more_ -

“Shit,” Zidane curses against his neck, biting down for a moment as he groans in pleasure, before he speaks again with a hoarse, needy voice. “Let me fuck you, Kuja, I want- I- Kuja, _please.”_

As soon as Zidane mentions it, the thought latches onto Kuja’s mind, his slit clenching down on a disappointing nothingness that he realizes he desperately, _desperately_ wants to be filled. Suddenly, there’s nothing in the world he wants more than for Zidane’s dick to be inside him, to stuff him full until there’s no emptiness left inside, only sweet bliss and the overwhelming emotions that swirl through his very being, his very soul.

 _“Yesss.”_ The word leaves his mouth before he even realizes what he’s saying, but he can’t stop himself anymore, so eager, so needy- “Zidane, fuck me- fill me up, fuck me- _Zidane_ -“

 _“Kuja-”_ The way Zidane says his name is absolute _sin,_ low and wanton, full of eagerness and need. “You’re so good to me Kuja, god-“

It’s such a lie, Kuja has never been good for _anyone_ but himself, but the way Zidane says it, combined with his hand lowering itself from pressing their dicks together to fingering Kuja’s slit makes it sound so _true,_ so _believable_. Kuja almost sobs with need, his breath hitching when Zidane’s fingers draw back from inside of him to hold him open, spreading his slit for all the world to see, except not really because Zidane’s body is over him, covering him up as his hips draw back slightly, his free hand removing itself from Kuja’s side to position his dick.

His brother is so hot like this, mouth hanging slightly open as he pants, shamelessly staring at Kuja’s dick, at his slit as he rubs the tip of his own dick against it; _teasing_ , even now. Kuja lets out an impatient noise, _needing_ to feel Zidane inside him right here, right now, none of this _just the tip_ bullshit, he wants, _wants_ -

Then, finally, _finally_ , Zidane starts sliding in, slowly, meticulously. Inch by inch he fills Kuja up, and Kuja feels every ridge, every little twitch as he gets fuller and fuller, his entire body feeling like it might as well have been set on fire with desire, with need. Zidane’s cock feels so perfect, so _fucking perfect_ as it’s pushed inside of him at an agonizingly slow pace that leaves him panting with need, shocks of pleasure racing up his spine with every little drag, every little movement. It’s overwhelming yet not nearly enough when their groins meet, Zidane stilling inside of him, broken pants leaving his throat as he just sits there inside Kuja, unmoving. It’s maddening, he’s so _full_ , but it’s not enough, he needs more, needs Zidane to move, he’s bursting at the seams and he can’t- he can’t take this _inaction_ -

 _“Zidane-“_ He moans, canting his hips, clawing at Zidane’s back. “ _Please_ \- I- I _need-_ “

“Shh,” Zidane presses their foreheads together, hot breath fanning against Kuja’s face, “let me savor this. Let me savor _you._ ”

Zidane’s arms snake around Kuja’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and even that small movement echoes its way to their connected groins, so good, so wonderful, and Kuja can’t help himself as his internal walls clench, trying to draw Zidane further in, to coax him into movement, anything, _anything_ -

Subconsciously, instinctively, maybe, Kuja feels his tail seeking out Zidane’s- or maybe Zidane’s seeks out his- looping them together until it’s impossible to tell where one begins and the next one ends, a steady squeeze of muscles that fills Kuja’s heart with something impossible, something he can’t describe. It’s so strong, it makes him want to cling to Zidane forever and ever and never let go. A spreading feeling that should be terrifying, but with Zidane sitting inside him, with his arms hugged around Kuja as every tremble, every breath can be felt between them, he finds that it’s nothing short of _amazing_ in a way that makes his breath hitch with emotion.

“I got you,” Zidane murmurs softly, so softly, “I love you. I got you.”

_Love._

Kuja almost _sobs_ with pleasure when Zidane draws his hips back, dick partially sliding out before it returns, pushing as deep as it can go, then repeating the movement at an experimental, slow tempo. It doesn’t take long for his brother to speed up after that, though, quickly trying to find the best way to stimulate Kuja in a way that makes his spine curve with bliss, overwhelming every fiber of his being with an unrelenting pleasure. Soon, Kuja finds his legs curling over Zidane’s hips, trying to drive him deeper, harder, hips raising to meet his brother’s thrusts until he’s dizzy with just how _good_ this is, crying out in pleasure every time his brother drives into him, stimulating all the most sensitive spots hidden deep inside him.

His first orgasm almost takes him by surprise, a high pitched noise ripping from his throat as his internal walls _clench_ around Zidane with an almost _suction-like_ motion until his brother huffs out a strained _‘thight-ah-‘_ , drawing him further in until moving becomes too much of a strain. Bliss races up Kuja’s spine, he can’t even bring himself to mind that Zidane has stopped moving for the moment; it’s only when he winds down, when his walls finally relax again, when Zidane resumes fucking him that he realizes his brother ever even stopped. He cries out, even more sensitive than before, but it feels so _goddamn_ great that it doesn’t take long before he’s rejoined Zidane’s efforts, already chasing a second orgasm.

“Mm- god, _Kuja,”_ Zidane speaks his name like a prayer into his ear, like it’s all he remembers how to say, “Kuja, Kuja- _Kuja-”_

 _“Zi-Zidane-“_ He moans in return, almost screaming with how blissed-out he feels, “you’re so- Zi- _ah-_ Zid- _ane-!”_

When Zidane’s hand unwinds itself from behind him to stroke his dick, Kuja loses all sense of coherence, his second internal orgasm overwhelming him when it cascades into his third, but first penile orgasm of the night. The noises he’s making are inhuman, his nails scratching into Zidane’s back as he grapples with the uncontrollable pleasure that numbs all his senses but physical, unable to find relief as both orgasms feed into each other like a never-ending crescendo of pleasure.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, his mind too busy lingering in the blissed-out buzz of the aftershocks until finally, he finds himself able to think coherently again. His and Zidane’s ragged breaths echo through the room, and he finds himself wondering how much the innkeeper must have been able to hear- not that it matters, not when he feels so absolutely _wonderful_ , relaxed in a way he isn’t sure he’s ever experienced properly. It’s weird but good, he thinks.

Zidane’s body is… a weight on his own. It looks like his brother simply collapsed on top of him as soon as he was done, though his breaths aren’t slow enough yet to indicate sleep, if his soft little hums weren’t enough of a tell.

Kuja shifts his hips, feels his now-spent dick trying to return into its sheath, but being prevented from doing so from Zidane’s own dick sitting inside him, his muscles clenching down tightly still, keeping everything from his own slick to Zidane’s come and cock inside.

It feels pleasant enough. His body can take this and more, of course, but…

Something uncomfortable crops up in his chest. Something dark and ugly, muddying the leftovers of the enjoyable feelings. It nags at the back of his mind, and he can’t place it, wonders why he feels so foul all of a sudden.

Is it getting harder to breathe? It feels like he’s not getting enough air anymore.

He tries to ground himself, tries to rationalize away the unpleasantness that is ruining his afterglow, but everything is starting to feel a little fuzzy.

He opens his eyes, grits his teeth.

Bright, blond hair meets his vision, standing out against the darkness of the room.

The same color as every dead eyed, soulless Genome of Bran Bal.

Suddenly, the walls feel like they’re morphing before his eyes; stone becomes a mushy, grey, almost _alive_ looking substance- or maybe they always were like that? It feels wrong, incredibly wrong, he feels his body tensing up-

It draws attention to the appendage still sitting inside him.

He feels bloated, full, like he’s been stuffed to the brim and is expected to take more. Something twitches inside of him, and the ugly feeling completely chases away any leftover bliss he possibly could have had. Who is laying on top of him? Who is it that’s holding him down, forcing him to take-

-her eggs.

The appendage inside him morphs, like something is pushing its way through it, worming its way _inside_ of him. Small noises of effort come from the blond head next to him, and his breath hitches, chest rising and falling at a rapid rate. The mushy, alive-looking walls of _Pandemonium_ feel like they’re closing in on him, and he frantically looks around, pushing at the body on top of him even though he knows, he _knows_ they can’t separate-

In the distance, Garland’s dark, looming form overlooks the scene.

“Kuja,” his low, rumbling voice echoes into his ears, even though his mouth doesn’t move.

“Kuja,” it comes again, closer by this time, and Kuja struggles harder, needing to get away- get _away_ -

“Kuja,” the voice rings in his ears once more, and he wants to cry, except he can’t because his emotions aren’t strong enough for that, so he’s been told again and again and it rings so true because no matter how hard he tries his eyes stay _dry_ -

_“Kuja!”_

Zidane’s voice cuts through his mind, and suddenly he’s looking back at the wooden ceiling of the inn.

Disoriented, Kuja blinks, tilting his head to look around the room.

Still the same ordinary stone walls and wooden furniture as he’d observed at the start of the night. His clothes- his _chosen_ clothes, not the uniform that he used to wear at the start of his life, are scattered over the floor along with Zidane’s, carelessly thrown away at the start of their little tryst.

A worried looking Zidane is hovering over him, trembling hand almost-but-not-quite touching his arm. They’re not connected anymore. Kuja realizes his dick has receded into its sheath.

There’s the sensation of their tails twined together. He realizes his is holding onto Zidane’s so tightly it’s painful, even for himself.

With a small sigh, he forces his entire body to go as lax as possible, but some of the tension lingers either way.

“Kuja?” Zidane’s voice sounds small, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Kuja answers, even if he isn’t, probably. He feels strangely numb all over, in a way that he hasn’t in _years._

Unless you count the direct aftermath of his Trance incident. But that was different, too.

Zidane, too perceptive for his own good, doesn’t believe him.

“You don’t _look_ fine to me,” he counters, brows furrowing with worry, “what happened just now?”

Kuja lets out another sigh.

“… You don’t _gotta_ tell me if you don’t want to.” Zidane murmurs when Kuja doesn’t speak up after a moment or so. “But you looked like you were enjoying yourself pretty well up until a moment before it happened. If it’s something I did… I’d like to know, at least.”

Ice runs through Kuja’s veins.

“It wasn’t you.” He’s quick to say, almost angry at the idea that his brother would do anything to hurt him on _purpose._ “You- you didn’t do anything wrong, Zidane. Please don’t think that it was you.”

“Then what triggered it?” Zidane asks. “I’m no expert, but… I’ve seen trauma, Kuja.”

Kuja falls silent for a moment, taking in those last words.

_Trauma._

That’s what it is, isn’t it? A memory he’d long buried, triggered by the sensation of being stuck together after orgasm. A perfectly normal bodily function for Genomes, and _yet_.

“… I believe I recalled something that happened in my earlier years.” He admits, feeling small, so very, very small. “I don’t remember the specifics- Garland enjoyed messing with my memories a lot back then, so whatever did stick is quite jumbled, but…”

His mouth refuses to move after that.

“You don’t have to say any more.” Zidane says after a few seconds pass by. “Garland was an _asshole.”_

Kuja lets out a wry laugh at that.

“No need to remind me.”

Another moment passes.

Zidane shivers.

“… Can I touch you again? You damn near clawed my eyes out just now.” Zidane chuckles awkwardly. “I don’t wanna be too pushy, you know, but I’m gettin’ a little cold over here.”

Kuja snorts out another laugh, and reaches out for Zidane, pulling his younger brother against himself. The warmth of his body is delightful now that he’s had a moment to pull himself together, and he hadn’t realized how much he was craving it until Zidane mentioned it just now.

“Certainly, you may.” He murmurs. “This room _is_ quite chilly now that we’ve ceased our activities, wouldn’t you say?”

“God, you sound so _posh.”_ Zidane giggles as his arms circle Kuja again, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “But yeah, that’s why I asked, silly. No need to pull out the _nobleman_ accent.”

“This is just my way of speaking, _Zidane_. Perhaps you could do with some formal _speech_ training yourself.” Kuja retorts, but there’s no fire behind it.

Honestly, he’s just kind of tired.

“Yeah, well, at least I don’t stand out in crowds when I talk.” Zidane hums, eyes sharp, defiant. “Unlike _mister_ Kuja over here.”

They banter for a few more minutes, before they fall into a content silence. Zidane untangles his tail from Kuja’s in order to pull the discarded blanket over them both- at least, as well as he can with just the single, prehensile appendage. After a moment of struggling, Kuja takes pity on him, lifting his own tail to help.

Once the blanket covers them both sufficiently, their tails loosely twine together once more. Their naked bodies quickly warm the space between them, even without any more _strenuous_ activities going on. Zidane is quick to pass out after that, small snores leaving his mouth as he curls closer to Kuja in his sleep, not a care in the world.

Despite his tiredness, Kuja stays awake just a little longer, admiring Zidane while he sleeps. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve a brother like Zidane- most would even say he _does absolutely not_ deserve anyone like Zidane in his life.

His brother was meant to be his replacement. A better version of him that could serve Garland in every way the old android could have possibly wanted. Kuja remembers the hatred, the jealousy he used to feel, the things that made him abandon Zidane on Gaia.

He doesn’t regret doing so. Not when, in the end, it allowed him to have _this_.

He’s glad he doesn’t hate Zidane anymore.

He doesn’t know how long he has left, but it doesn’t really matter, not anymore. He’ll cherish every single moment he has left with his brother, both good and bad.

As long as Zidane is willing to love him, despite all he’s done, he’ll live the rest of his life to the fullest.

It’s with those thoughts in the back of his mind that he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @Foxyinferno321
> 
> Leave a kudos and a comment <3


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